Ch.207Sword Saint Society (4)

Despite the Sword Saint’s words, Llewellyn couldn’t easily open his mouth.

Well, that’s understandable.

When someone you thought was just a madman shows unexpected insight, anyone would be surprised and wary.

‘Well, being the Sword Saint means he’s not just some madman.’

Living for 200 years meant surviving for 200 years.

And surviving for 200 years meant killing for 200 years.

There was no reason why this wouldn’t apply to the Sword Saint as it did to Valterok. Knowing this well, Llewellyn maintained his expressionless face while glancing at Maya.

A small dog beastkin standing quietly.

The small girl, dressed in splendid clothes that nobles in the Empire might wear, complete with a cape, silently returned Llewellyn’s piercing gaze.

Bold. Quite rude too.

Since she looks cute, it’s somewhat diluted. Isn’t that how the world works?

If you look good, even rudeness becomes fiery charm, but if you don’t look good, even goodwill becomes suspicious.

Llewellyn thought with an open mind and organized thoughts. This woman is a bitch.

And as one typically does with bitches, Llewellyn maintained his cold expression.

Just when he was wondering why it was so quiet when the Sword Saint had asked to talk…

“Were you watching us?”

Melody asked.

“Ah, I wasn’t exactly watching. How should I explain this?”

His occasionally archaic speech pattern emerged. He stroked his clean-shaven, faintly ashen chin.

“I suppose the easiest way to understand is that you both have such a significant presence that I can tell when you approach.”

Despite his attempt to simplify, his explanation wasn’t easy to understand. He had tried to explain and simplify it in his own way, but it still wasn’t clear.

The giant let out a groan and nodded to Maya.

The small dog beastkin sighed. With her hands behind her back, she spoke confidently.

“My teacher sensed the golden nightingale and your noble bearing, so he gauged him and knew where you were heading even before you set foot in our campsite.”

Her voice was confident and powerful. Perhaps because she was a duelist skilled in representing rulers, Llewellyn’s eyes widened at this unexpected side of her.

Since all he knew of her was the image of her charging with a sword in rage and hatred, he had misjudged what kind of person she was.

“So if you ask if we were spying, the answer would be no. My teacher welcomes you and hopes to open a beneficial and harmless dialogue.”

Maya nodded formally, and the Sword Saint nodded in agreement.

“I, Marianne Juran del Lapemonian, representing the great master who is the 12th successor of the Sword Saint Society, one of the leaders of the Northern Tribal Union, and the Sword Saint revered throughout the continent, welcome you.”

The long and elaborate honorifics would be tongue-twisting even in Korean. The Sword Saint gave a bitter smile, but Maya remained dignified.

The duelist stood proudly with her hands behind her back, showing no emotional signs.

But Llewellyn responded to such elaborate titles and greetings with a single sentence.

“I am Llewellyn, master of the Pantheon. I appreciate your welcome.”

Such rudeness made even Melody’s and Maya’s expressions change slightly.

But no one pointed it out. Among the four people present, only Llewellyn was unfamiliar with proper etiquette, but only two people cared about such things.

The Sword Saint himself chuckled and looked at Llewellyn.

“Well, Llewellyn. Are you ready to talk?”

“I have a proposal.”

He got straight to the point. Llewellyn opened his mouth confidently under the Sword Saint’s gaze, but—

“I—”

As he spoke, he felt a tingling sensation at the back of his head. Llewellyn reflexively reached out, and with a small clang, sparks flew.

Black armor had somehow appeared on Llewellyn’s body. What he had executed with his hand was unmistakably a dragon-dropping and deflection technique.

Llewellyn saw the blade that had suddenly approached his face. The attack was lightly deflected as if no force had been applied to it in the first place.

It was more like testing him, but when facing someone like the Sword Saint, he couldn’t take it lightly.

Normally, if the approach is light, the result should be light too, but with the Sword Saint, one never knows.

There was no guarantee that that light thrust wouldn’t twist upon contact and become a fatal strike to the throat.

Rationally and realistically, such a possibility seemed unlikely, but Llewellyn remained on high alert.

Humans don’t always act rationally and logically.

Rather, it’s the opposite. Humans generally act impulsively and are swayed by emotions. That’s what makes them human.

So Llewellyn narrowed his eyes in the darkness that followed the dissipation of the sparks.

The cold wind coming through the fluttering entrance of the tent cut through the silence.

“…What are you doing?”

The light coming down flickered wildly in the tent. It was light that couldn’t be filtered through the fluttering entrance.

In front of the dancing shadows, the Sword Saint was smiling.

“I said let’s talk, not flap our gums, didn’t I?”

An incomprehensible statement. As Llewellyn frowned, Melody stood beside him. She had already drawn her estoc, which was now sharply positioned.

But the Sword Saint, seemingly unfazed by any threat, walked past Llewellyn, naturally pushing aside Melody’s extended estoc with the flat of his blade as he headed outside.

Melody was startled, not even realizing her blade had been pushed until that moment, and Llewellyn was surprised that the Sword Saint’s presence remained so faint despite his strength.

A presence so faint it seemed almost non-existent.

Like a dream or ghost, the Sword Saint lifted the tent entrance and stepped outside.

“Let’s follow him.”

Maya passed by Llewellyn, glared briefly at Melody, and followed the Sword Saint.

Outside, the sun was still shining.

[Play Time: 10,223 hours]

It was still daytime. In the cold early spring breeze, the sword disciples of the Sword Saint Society silently watched their leader heading toward the center of the campsite while maintaining their positions.

Llewellyn belatedly realized they were standing in a circle.

“…What is this about?”

“No need to be wary. If that was my intention, wouldn’t I have done so already?”

The giant spoke of not attacking while drawing his sword.

It was a sword that showed signs of age.

A sword that seemed to have been used for a very long time, one that didn’t seem to match the name “Sword Saint.”

Yet, like its owner, it hadn’t deteriorated and was still here.

The Sword Saint had cut countless things with that sword, and it felt like he would continue to do so.

“We need to talk.”

That’s what the Sword Saint said. Llewellyn didn’t immediately understand and stood there blankly.

Then, with a doubtful thought, he narrowed his eyes.

“Are you perhaps saying…”

“Sword disciples speak through their swords.”

Llewellyn unconsciously squeezed his eyes shut.

It was exactly the kind of typical thing one would say. Llewellyn sighed in disappointment that the Sword Saint would say something so predictable.

“I know. I get it. That sounds like something a con artist would say while boasting about selling their swordsmanship in the market.”

“And yet you say you understand.”

“But it’s true. No matter how many days I listen or speak… nothing compares to crossing swords once.”

Llewellyn was a modern person who had been exposed to various media.

At the same time, he was a divine being who had awakened divinity, and one who could read and copy an entire being’s life.

For such a Llewellyn, the idea of exchanging blows as a substitute for conversation didn’t seem impossible, but…

It was such a textbook response that Llewellyn felt deflated.

“Wait, wait! Let me do it! It was my proposal originally…!”

On the other hand, Melody became urgent about how to respond.

Perhaps she felt she couldn’t face Lucilla if Llewellyn got hurt, or maybe she didn’t want to see Llewellyn get hurt.

Or perhaps she had a compulsion to be helpful, so she stepped forward.

“No, it’s fine. This was probably inevitable at some point.”

But Llewellyn had no intention of giving up the opportunity. With an outstretched hand, he pushed Melody back, sending her behind him as he sighed.

Instead, he demonstratively stretched out his hand and drew in the air.

He drew a long horizontal line, then overlapped it with a vertical stroke.

A blue light blazed and took form. Facing the sword, the Sword Saint opened his mouth in an “oh” and marveled.

“No need to make a fuss about using something fancy.”

“Of course, handling a good sword well is also a swordsman’s virtue.”

The Sword Saint accepted it freely. In the Sword Saint’s attitude, Llewellyn read something beyond composure.

Anticipation, a faint desire, competitive spirit.

Llewellyn frowned slightly and grasped the sword formed by the interlocking blue lines.

Beyond the revealed blade, Llewellyn’s gray eyes analyzed the Sword Saint thoroughly.

The Sword Saint is clearly a powerful being. One of the three old monsters commonly mentioned in the Old Continent, he was the foremost among them in terms of danger and achievements.

Unlike Valterok, who was a nightmare to black mages but not quite to others, and the Dragon King, whose level was hard to gauge due to his less prominent achievements…

The Sword Saint was treated as a person of caution even by the Empire, which showed signs of avoiding him.

The Sword Saint was undoubtedly an overwhelming powerhouse. In terms of strength in this world, he was someone you’d count from the top.

Among the known facts about the Sword Saint, there were several noteworthy points.

First, his overwhelming practical experience accumulated over 200 years.

He had gone through countless battlefields to an extent that Valterok couldn’t even compare, and had survived and won by cutting down all kinds of enemies.

His experience alone was something Llewellyn couldn’t match even if he accumulated it for hundreds of years.

And that’s not all.

The Sword Saint’s skill was said to be unmatched by anyone with a sword throughout the continent.

There might be hidden masters in the wilderness like in martial arts novels, but barring that, the Sword Saint was indeed the world’s best with a sword.

Countless people knocked on the doors of the Sword Saint Society to learn from him.

Overwhelming fundamentals, adaptability born from experience, and lethal power that even the Three Clans and the Empire avoided confronting—he was rightfully called a one-man army.

So before making his “proposal” for Melody’s sake, Llewellyn believed this was the most accurate approach.

“This isn’t about swords.”

“…What?”

Before the Sword Saint could voice his question—

“Miracle Manifestation.”

Words flowed from Llewellyn’s mouth.

That voice transcended reason. It resonated in the mind even before the sound waves reached the ears.

And a pulsing sound that enveloped everyone present.

Thump—!

A bell-like sound that originated from Llewellyn’s heart, enveloped the surroundings, and reached the Pantheon.

The Sword Saint, standing with his sword pointed, felt the divinity that examined and penetrated him.

A gaze that dug into his life and observed it from above, a transcendent gaze that read his entire life.

He saw something that understood his life, affirmed it, and ultimately stood before him as a perfect mirror image.

“Sword Saint.”

Somehow, Llewellyn’s blue sword had come to resemble the Sword Saint’s beloved blade.